


In Other Words, A Dinosaur

by old_fashioned_girl



Category: Justice League & Justice League Unlimited (Cartoons), Justice League - All Media Types
Genre: I had so much fun with JLU's version of the characters that this was the result, I like Big Brother Batman almost as much as Tired Dad Batman, I love all of them actually, I love him, I need to stop watching cartoons, Wally West is The Flash, flash gets into trouble and batman barely suppresses his big brother instincts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 14:40:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28708305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/old_fashioned_girl/pseuds/old_fashioned_girl
Summary: "Could you stop moving around so much? You're distracting me, and we can't afford distractions right now,” Batman orders. He’s blowing past red stoplights at what has to be an illegal speed.“Aww, lighten up! It’s just a scratch. I heal really fast," Flash says cheerfully.Batman doesn’t seem convinced. “You’re bleeding over the dashboard.”
Relationships: Bruce Wayne & Wally West
Comments: 4
Kudos: 57





	1. The Only Real Chapter

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer: I have never read a DC comic in my life, so apologies if any of this goes against canon. I'm only basing this off JLA/JLU and the various animated DC movies I've seen over the years.
> 
> It's also convoluted and cheesy, but frankly, I don't care. I wrote this on a whim over the holidays for fun and relaxation. So all in all, I think it turned out okay.

“Stop that,” growls Batman. Flash is sitting shotgun, squirming and twitching in the seat. He's had a rough day. He's soaked from head to toe in freezing rainwater (he regrets not bringing a spare ring with him, so as it is he's stuck with a wet suit), tired from running all afternoon, his right arm is bleeding, and on top of it all, he hasn’t even had dinner. The blood from the wound is trickling over his suit, red clashing with red...

"Could you stop moving around so much? You're distracting me, and we can't afford distractions right now,” Batman orders. He’s blowing past red stoplights at what has to be an illegal speed. 

“Aww, lighten up! It’s just a scratch. I heal really fast," Flash says cheerfully.

Batman doesn’t seem convinced. “You’re bleeding over the dashboard.”

“I’m not — oh yeah, I am. Oops.”

It was five to one, earlier, when they realized that Flash's suit was torn up and his right arm was bleeding. Five to one, because Flash didn't think he needed patching up, but Batman did, and everyone knows it's pointless to go against Batman. 

“I told you to compress the wound."

“I  _ am _ compressing! Jeez, d’you think I’ve never gotten hurt before? Relax, it’s gonna heal up in a few minutes, you’ll see.”

The League doesn't often drop by Gotham City. (That's the Bat's territory, everyone can agree on  _ that _ .) And the one time they do, Flash  _ happens _ to get injured. 

He knew from the start that it was a lost cause.

It's five to one, then, when Batman uses his signature glare and states his argument in a way that silences everyone else. "We need to clean that wound and make sure it isn't infected. No one's at the Watchtower. And we can't just drop him off at a hospital; raises too many questions. My place isn't too far from here. I can patch him up."

"You mean  _ Alfred _ can patch him up," cuts in Superman, but he doesn't disagree. Flash doesn't even have the time to ask  _ who's Alfred? _ before Batman gives another glower. 

"Alfred's on vacation," he grunts. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get Flash to the Batmobile."

Flash isn't really in a position to say no, even if the only thing he wants to do now is run back to his apartment and have a good, long nap. But everybody else turns to him, gives him a look. A choice. As if he still  _ has _ a choice. Flash is drenched in freezing cold water, his right arm is bleeding, and his tired brain isn't in any good condition to make decisions. Plus, he’s outnumbered. It’s a lost cause. If there's anything he knows for sure, though, it's that he trusts Batman with his life.

"I'll go with Bats," he says, and that's good enough for them. 

A minute later, Flash is sitting in the Batmobile, with a bandage over his wound. It feels wonderful to finally sit down and give his tired legs a break. In any other circumstance he'd be having the time of his life. It's not everyday that you get to sit in Batman's car as he zooms through the streets of Gotham at top speed. But the wound's starting to cause that itchy yet painful sensation, and it's bothering him. Not to mention, Flash is starting to get cold.

He can probably do something about that latter thing. But just as he starts vibrating, Batman stops him.

"Don't do that. You're making everything vibrate. I won't risk accidentally damaging the engine with super-speed vibration. Besides, are you sure that won't cause side effects?"

Flash stops. He's still wet. "Side effects? To what? The engine?”

"Your wound. You've never been injured this badly before, have you?"

He's right. "No, but… it's super cold in here."

"Don't worry about the cold. We're almost there."

Batman was drenched in the rain too. His cape is dripping all over the driver's seat, but he doesn't seem affected at all. Flash has often suspected him of being a meta — maybe he has the power of cold resistance. Or his suit is waterproof and can dry off quickly. The second seems more likely, but Flash will stick with his theory until it's disproven.

"So, uh, where's this cave of yours?"

"None of your business." Then, in a tone that is a little kinder (if you could describe it as that), but blunt all the same, he adds: "Secret identity. You know." 

Flash and Batman, out of all the League members, are the most guarded ones when it comes to their private lives. Sure, Flash likes to bring up his day-to-day problems, but he makes certain to keep it general and only talks about things that aren't specific to his job. He likes it that way. Wally's not sure how they'll feel when they find out he's barely out of college. Nineteen is young. Maybe too young.

Batman, on the other hand... no one knows anything about  _ him _ . 

Flash can hear him swearing under his breath.

“What’s wrong?”

“I forgot to bring a blindfold,” Batman murmurs. His eyes narrow. 

“A  _ blindfold _ ? For what?"

"Privacy. I don't want you knowing the location of the Batcave and running around the place in the future."

"I could close my eyes."

“Right,” replies Batman. Without removing his eyes from the road, he gropes around the glove compartment (or the closest thing to it he has to it). He swears again, trying to find something with his hand that obviously isn’t there.

“Dude, seriously. I’ll close my eyes.”

Before Batman has the chance to object, Flash slides his left pinky into Batman's right one and feels the solemn, unquestionable weight of the universal rule that binds all pinky swears over him as he utters the next five words.

“I promise I won’t look.”

Batman pulls his hand away. He clearly thinks that it’s stupid and pointless, but since there’s no blindfold to be found, he doesn’t really have a choice. He grumbles something under his breath that sounds like "well that's better than nothing.” Flash hears an "or Clark" somewhere in there too — an accidental (or maybe not so accidental) throwaway that reveals something and at the same time nothing about Batman's private life. 

"That’ll have to do,” Batman eventually says. “Close your eyes."

Flash grins back at him.

A full minute passes in silence, in which Flash does his best to resist the incredibly tempting urge to open his eyes. If he does it quickly, as in super-speed-quickly, Batman won't even notice. But a promise is a promise, and he makes it through that eternity of a minute completely unscathed, eyes squeezed shut. 

The Batmobile has slowed down to a halt. 

"You can open your eyes now."

Batman opens the doors. 

They're at a very dimly lit place with high ceilings. Flash steps out, and a sudden chill rushes past him as he leaves the relative warmth of the vehicle. He shivers, which throws him off balance a little bit, and he stumbles. But suddenly Batman is there, keeping a firm grip on his shoulders and guiding him to what looks like a table. Flash can hear the high-pitched sound of bats twittering somewhere from above.

"So, this is y-your digs, h-huh?" 

“Is it not what you expected?”

“Uh… I don’t know. It sure screams  _ dark and creepy  _ to me.”

Batman motions for Flash to sit down on the table-platform-thing and covers him with a thick, but not quite warm blanket. His mouth is set in a grim line, an almost-frown that betrays his concern. 

"Has the wound stopped bleeding?"

"Yeah, I think so. Told you I heal fast."

They remove the makeshift bandage (it  _ stings _ ) and Batman cleans the wound. He does it quickly and efficiently, as if he's done it a dozen times before. He probably has.

To distract himself from the burning pain, Flash looks around the dark cave, trying to pinpoint the shadows in the dark, but all he can see are incomprehensible shapes.

"It’s kinda c-cold in here. Is this a real cave?”

"It’s a natural cave, yes, if that’s what you meant.”

“I guess that explains why there are bats all over the place.”

“You think I would put bats here for no purpose?” 

“I dunno, maybe you like to c-creep out your visitors.” 

“I don’t have visitors.”

“I’m a visitor.”

Flash sneezes. 

"That thing over there looks like a giant dinosaur,” he adds.

No comment. 

"If it's not a dinosaur, what is it?"

"Memorabilia."

"Soooo, that's what you do when you're not beating up bad guys? Collect giant dinosaurs?"

"Maybe." 

“Okay, not the answer I expected. What’s a guy gotta do to get a cave and a dinos—“

Batman sneezes.

There’s something so startling about that sentence — and the very idea that Batman can  _ sneeze _ , like a normal human being — that Flash actually bursts into laughter. Maybe he should be disappointed that his Batman-is-a-meta-who-can’t-get-cold theory had been disproven, but Batman sneezing is the most hilarious thing he’s seen all day.

"What's so funny?" Batman growls.

“You just sneezed!”

Batman huffs. Flash wonders if he's rolling his eyes underneath the cowl. 

"Next thing: now that it's been properly sanitized, you've got to keep that wound clean. Don’t run around until the wound is dry, or at least bandaged properly. We don’t know what that level of speed will do to an exposed wound of that size.”

“Not run for five minutes while I’m wearing my Flash suit? Sounds like agony, but sure, I can do that.” Flash sneezes again. “It’s really cold in here.”

Without a word, Batman turns around and vanishes through a previously unseen entrance.

"Oh, great. Leaving me all alone in a scary cave with bats hanging from the ceiling."

Flash has started shivering again. 

In addition to his legs being sore and his back being cold, Flash is facing a dark, gaping hole that looks like it leads deeper into the cave. It's a giant black mouth, spitting out screeching bats every now and then. Flash hates to admit it, but it's starting to creep him out. In fact, it disturbs him so much that he's seriously considering getting up, despite his beat-up legs, to look for Bats when salvation comes in the form of Batman himself, who is clutching something in his hands. Flash makes a little sigh of relief.

“I was s-starting to think you were going to leave me here, heh.”

“I was getting something for you.”

Batman is walking a little slower than usual, as if he's thinking, or hesitant about something. 

"Here," he says, shoving the thing he’s holding to Flash’s hands. “You should change so you don't catch a cold."

It's a T-shirt and jeans. 

Oh. _ Ohhhh. _

“Thanks, Bats, but — but I can't — I’d have to take off my suit, and my mask is — “

“I’ll leave,” says Batman, motioning to the door he came from earlier. “You can stay here until your suit dries off. Contact me through the comms if you need something.”

Something inside Flash immediately screams in protest at the idea of having to be left alone, near that big gaping hole, with no suit, no super speed (at least till the wound dries), and no Batman.

“Is it okay if you stay with me?”

Batman pauses, but doesn’t turn around.

“Never mind, it’s… it’s stupid. I’ll be fine. I —”

“I can stay if you want me to.” He remains where he’s standing, rigidly facing the wall. “I promise I won’t peek.”

“Oh. That’s… really? Thanks.” Flash is tempted to mock-ask for a pinkie swear, but that might be asking a little too much from  _ the Batman _ . In a split second of cracking lightning, Flash has dried his back with the blanket (it’s an incredible relief to be  _ dry _ ), and he places his torn-up suit on the table. He finds himself dressed in civilian clothes that, oddly enough, fit like a glove. Seeing the wound against his bare, paler-than-usual-all-too-human skin makes him shudder. The drying blood doesn’t seem as dull without the red of his suit to compare it to, and he realizes just how bad it looks. 

"I heard that,” says Batman. “I thought I told you _no_ _speed_ for now."

"It was really fast! It would be super awkward if I changed my clothes with you standing over there."

"Fair."

The image of Batman wearing a T-shirt and jeans makes Flash grin. “So, uh, are these yours?”

“No.” 

“No? So you have… right, right, secrets. No more personal questions. Gotcha.”

“Mmm.” Batman’s shoulders sag a little, which makes him look a little more relaxed. Even though all Flash can see from this side is a black, Batman-shaped shadow, that puts him more at ease. 

“Did _you_ change?” Flash asks. In the relatively bad lighting, he can’t really tell. 

“Why?”

“You’re gonna catch a cold if you don’t change.”

“You know, you’re starting to sound like Superman.”

“He… tells you to change when you get wet?”

“He  _ mothers _ me, sometimes. It’s irritating.”

“It’s nice of him, actually, seeing how you’re so grumpy all the time. It’s what’s friends do. Besides, he does that to  _ everyone _ . Just like Diana.”

There is no reply to this. For a moment, Flash thinks that Batman has fallen asleep. He hasn't.

“Diana’s not as bad,” says Batman, almost indignantly.

“Oh really?”

“But you’re more insufferable than both of them combined.”

Flash can’t see Batman’s face, so he can’t know for real, but he’s pretty sure that Batman is  _ smiling _ . He can hear it in his voice. But he’s not gonna bring it up because he doesn’t know for sure. But that doesn’t stop him from feeling ridiculously accomplished. Hearing that smile is ten times better than beating up a bad guy.

“Well, thanks.”

They stay there for a while in complete silence, Batman facing the wall, and Wally shuffling around, trying to decide if the dark shape looming in the back is a dinosaur. For once, he doesn't feel the unquenchable need to run or talk or do anything. It  _ is _ pretty nice to just sit in the company of a friend who can be quiet without being awkward.

Once his wound looks a little less raw and frightening, Wally speeds up the process of drying his suit by making a small gust of wind with his arms. Batman makes it clear that he disapproves of this, but makes no move to stop him.

Wally throws on his now sufficiently dried—though still punctuated with holes and burn marks—suit and they head back to the Batmobile. 

Batman drives at a less frantic (and more legal) speed. Wally's arm isn't bleeding anymore. They continue to sit in silence. 

For a full minute. Whatever miracle that occurred earlier which involved Flash not wanting to talk was a one time thing,  _ obviously _ .

"Hey, Bats?"

"Hmm?"

"I don't wanna sound corny, but thanks. For patching me up, lending me the clothes, keeping me company, and for not peeking. I, uh… it was nice. I mean, you didn't have to do all of that, but you did, so thanks."

The white lenses on Batman's cowl shift upwards in the smallest of movements that only a speedster can catch. It's like Batman's raising his eyebrows in surprise under the mask.

"You're welcome."

Flash smiles.

" _ Someone _ has to stop you from being stupid.”

“Hey!”

“Don’t worry, you’re not stupid all the time. I know you didn’t peek either.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re welcome too.”

Batman stops near some random coffee shop in a quiet but not too eerie part of the city. Flash looks at the pouring rain outside and sighs. He’s got a long trip ahead. 

To his infinite surprise, Batman whips out five bucks from out of nowhere and hands it to him. Flash doesn’t know if he should be offended or grateful or confused or all of them at the same time.

“Get yourself something warm before you run back to Central in this rain. And get some rest.” Then, as if this show of being a decent human being and a nice friend has become too unpleasant for him, Batman adds in a decidedly grumpier voice: “Heaven forbid I have to babysit a  _ sick _ Flash.”

“Love you too, Bats.”

And Batman disappears into the night.

  
  



	2. Bonus

Later that evening (or very early morning — it must be at least 3 A.M. by the time he gets back from work) Batman looks, very briefly, through the security feed. It's sped up. The lights are dim and moving blurs of red and black are all he can see.

He’ll leave it that way, he decides. Flash didn’t peek, and neither will he. A promise is a promise. Batman doesn’t delete the footage, though. He’s also not going to tell Flash that somewhere in his harddrive is a folder containing an ID picture of a red-haired nineteen-year-old.

As he shuts down the computer screen, he glimpses the reflection of a looming, dinosaur-shaped shadow from the back.

Bruce is definitely not smiling. Nope.


End file.
